This year will find me
wintering in crawl spaces
and tunneled out
sections of earth
we call basements,
places where light
comes through
diffused in grays
and earth tones.
The resulting version
of sunlight
is so weak
I come to prefer
darkness,
a state which
seems static
in comparison to the changing
seasons. Sometimes I enjoy
not having the pressure
of keeping up
with anything but old
movies and older books
and, when I’m feeling
ambitious, shaving by
candlelight in the absolute
quiet of winterdawn.

About the author:
John Abbott is a writer, musician, and English instructor who lives with his wife and daughter in Kalamazoo, Michigan. His stories and poems have appeared in The Potomac Review, Georgetown Review, Ballard Street Poetry Journal, Arcadia, upstreet, and many others.

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